


Private Stars

by atlas_white



Category: Don't Starve (Video Game)
Genre: M/M, Mutual Pining, Remember the game takes place in the 1920s, maxwil - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-15
Updated: 2019-10-15
Packaged: 2020-12-16 16:17:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,908
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21039107
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/atlas_white/pseuds/atlas_white
Summary: Wilson contemplates the vastness of the void beyond the Constant when he is graced by a visit from Maxwell.





	Private Stars

  
Maxwell had described the Constant as a place where even the stars did not show their faces, and lying on his back staring up at the sky, Wilson could see once again that it was so. His mind was wandering, like his feet during the day, and his body was at rest. There was a sort of poetry to the inaction, his scientific curiosity mulling over how the sky could be so dark. How did the dark swallow the world here so efficiently? As soon as the sun disappeared completely over the horizon, it took with it the forests and the islands and the very seas.

  
It was difficult to hypothesize the reason behind the phenomenon, beyond the simple answer of Them, the shadows which controlled the Constant and which sought his soul as well. In much the same way, They would have him, his body and that which resided within it, and they would consume him greedily and leave nothing behind; this he knew and understood, but it no longer frightened him the way that it had, which was itself a kind of frightening.

After all, shouldn't he still fear the things he couldn't see or touch, but which were all the same very real? Those things could bite down on him and rent his flesh with vicious teeth of translucent black, and he would be utterly helpless to protect himself should they find him without the fire and the strength of his mind to bolster him against their attack. 

They were the lords of this place, perhaps more than Maxwell— no, certainly more so. After all, what power did he wield that did not come from Them? Did They not possess him, compel him to do Their bidding? How often did he glance over his shoulder with his eyes of burning gold, making Wilson's heart twist!

The stars were absent in that sky of unforgiving black, speaking of Their power quite clearly. Infinite, it threatened to consume him along with the Constant. What fate awaited him in Their jaws? How fast could They rip the flesh from his bones and rend his soul from his body? They were uncaring, and They were in control.

The well-polished shoe next to his head was expected as it stepped with a hush in the grass, its owner's approach as silent as it was sudden. At once, Wilson's view of the emptiness where the sky should be was obscured by a dark and smiling face, with eyes that glowed like the missing stars.

"Why hello there, pal," Maxwell's deep and rolling voice purred down at him. "What are you doing?"

"Hello, Maxwell," Wilson greeted, not getting up from his place upon the ground, "I was looking up at the sky. It's very empty."

"Yes, it is," the magician commented idly, glancing up where the other man happened to be looking. He took a drag from his cigar, briefly presenting a third point of light for an imitation star, and then leaned up and blew his smoke into the air above Wilson like a cloud. "As I told you before; even the stars don't show their faces here."

Wilson pursed his lips slightly, but his expression remained neutral. At length, he asked, "Why is that? How can there be no stars out here, in the wildnerness? How can the night be so dark?"

Maxwell shook his head. "Because good things don't exist here, Wilson. Not even the stars."

"You exist here," Wilson said, almost thoughtlessly.

This struck the King of Shadows, and for a long moment they only stared at each other, wordlessly. The words hung in the air along with their meaning, the implications more vast than the emptiness of the sky, and deeper than the void beyond.

And abruptly, Maxwell laughed.

"Me? Oh no. But you are here, and that is exactly why you continue your efforts to leave."

Wilson mulled this over. He had been loose with his tongue. Again. Predictably. Yet, it seemed as though the sentiment had not landed quite the way it had been intended, even if it hadn't been planned. Like a skilled archer's arrow fired reflexively, hitting a tree rather than its impromptu target. They both knew the arrow for what it was, but what good was it if it didn't strike true?

"Why don't you lie down, too?" he asked at length, and saw Maxwell shrug by the light of the fire that kept the endless darkness at bay.

"Strange invitation, but I suppose I have nothing better to do," the magician replied. 

He sat down in the grass by Wilson's side, within arm's distance. There was something about being so close he could reach out and effortlessly touch Maxwell that made Wilson's stomach twist. He did at times like to get close just to make a point. Funny how different it was when he did it unthinkingly. 

When had they gotten to be like this? When had Maxwell gotten so comfortable that he would sit next to him in the grass, close enough to put an arm around? When had Wilson surrendered his fear of Them to desire to savor the warmth of the false king They'd put into place?

Maxwell took a drag off his cigar, exhaling smoke that faded into the infinite black to be lost and consumed. He looked so noble then, but at the same time there was a loneliness, like he was the only one of his kind. That wasn't quite true, though, was it? How different was he from Wilson, prisoner under the starless sky? How much power did he really have in Their domain?

"Come now, I said to lie down, not to sit," Wilson said, arrogant in his epiphany. Like he no longer thought of himself as speaking to a king.

"I think you're getting a little full of yourself, don't you?" Maxwell remarked, but at length, he did comply, lying down next to Wilson with his cigar between his ebony claws. Wilson found himself privately wanting to kiss them. Even at the risk of being burned (he would have welcomed it). 

He didn't. He couldn't bring himself to take that plunge. As if he were paralyzed by indecision, or just not brave enough despite everything he'd been through.

"So, tell me. What do we do now?" Maxwell asked.

"We look up at the sky and enjoy each other's company," answered Wilson, "Like cloud watching."

"Each other's company, is it?" Maxwell chuckled. He breathed smoke. Beautiful how it curled from his lips, giving intangible form to his words.

Wilson nodded, pretending not to be stealing glances. Fortunate that his eyes did not glow the way that Maxwell's did, unnaturally bright against his umber skin. He would have liked to know more about why they did, aside of the simple explanation that he had been changed by Them, leaving nothing more to be said.

"Whyever not? We're the only ones here, except for the things lurking in the shadows. No harm in it, is there?" 

"Suppose not," Maxwell replied, unabashedly looking over toward Wilson. Again, it seized the scientist. There were the stars missing from the sky: They had put them into Maxwell's eyes. "Maybe I just don't see why you'd want to."

"Then let it just be said that I have my reasons," Wilson said, self-satisfied. Dazzled by his private stars in the darkness. As he could not have answers to why there were no more, he could have his own secrets. Little ones, ones that could choke him.

Maxwell moved to put his free hand under his head, and his elbow brushed against Wilson. The scientist decided to let this be an invitation, and lifted his head to put it on the elbow, drawing another look from the magician, and a raised eyebrow.

"Forward, aren't you?"

"Not in the least." Wilson declared.

"Enjoying my company, then?" Maxwell pressed.

"Yes, that's it."

Maxwell allowed this without comment, and Wilson was pleased for it. He adjusted his position a little bit, made himself comfortable with his new pillow, his prim, pale hands folded neatly on his belly. The sky above was starless and empty, but Wilson was neither of these, and that made him feel content, comfortable even in the Constant's endless dark. 

It was not true that good things could not exist here, he concluded, but it was true that this was not the place for them. He did keep trying to find a way out, and he would not give that pursuit up until he had found that way for the both of them. Far be it from he to consider leaving behind his private stars, and the golden warmth that they provided in the cold and cruel night.

After all, for all Maxwell would posture, didn't he lie down when Wilson asked? Wasn't he so, so close right now, with Wilson's head on his arm as if they were lovers? Oh, and they could be, if only they could both give it a name. Cruel society so did cast the two of them out, and it was what dictated that they should not find solace in each other. And now, they weren't even in society, in the civilized world, oh no! They were in a world where there truly was no one but the two of them.

"I enjoy your company tremendously, Maxwell," Wilson murmured, as if he were unsure he should be so bold as to break the silence. 

The stars of Maxwell's eyes glanced over to him.

"You are a fool, then, I think," he said.

"No, not in the least," Wilson denied proudly, "I am highly intelligent and perfectly sound of mind, and I feel that I should enjoy whatever brings me pleasure."

"And my company does that?" Maxwell asked, sounding genuinely curious. He turned his head to look more fully to him, and Wilson turned his own head in kind. They were inches apart.

"Yes," Wilson whispered, "It does."

Tension suddenly hung thick over the both of them, a shift in the air that was almost tangible. Wilson had come too close to revealing his secrets. The arrow of his quiver was in full display, and it had blood on it. 

"You are very strange," Maxwell said at last, breathless, as if he were speaking a secret of his own.

"This I know," Wilson agreed, in much the same tone, and for some long moments they only stared at each other in some secret, silent exchange. 

When it had concluded, they resumed looking up at the sky in silence, Maxwell smoking his unending cigar, Wilson watching the smoke. The fire never died down, and their secrets remained unspoken; something had changed, tangibly, but it was not yet to be given a name. Wilson wondered when it would, and whether Maxwell would allow that name to take shape. 

Would he care? Wasn't he a king in his own right, with the law to be shaped by him? Even without true power under Them, he had his magic and his reign. He had his solitary subject, ready to kneel and be given his grace.

Wilson wanted more, so much more, but he was happy with this. He enjoyed his company, truly. He enjoyed this. And he was glad to lie next to Maxwell in the grass, with his head on the bend of his arm, satisfied with the answers to his questions about the endlessness of the void beyond.


End file.
